


Connor's Apartment

by Jaydeemz



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Bit of angst to balance things out, Featuring Connor's nephew and niece, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 13:24:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3328229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydeemz/pseuds/Jaydeemz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor's stuck on babysitting duty for a weekend, and unfortunately forgets to let his boyfriend know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Connor's Apartment

**Author's Note:**

> The Walsh family scene in episode 11 has ruined me.

“I walk in,” Connor had explained, “I fall asleep, I wake up, I shower and get dressed, and then I leave. I never spend time there.” 

That had been his explanation when he’d brought Oliver “home” with him. The minuscule, almost claustrophobic bachelor’s apartment with a twin bed — even a double wouldn’t fit in the ridiculously small bedroom, and Connor preferred taking his conquests to their own homes so he could sneak out, anyways — had solidified Connor’s promise that he had never brought Oliver to his place simply because Oliver’s apartment was a hundred times nicer. 

Still, the bedroom-living-room-dining-room-sort-of-kitchen area had a nice window that faced West, so the two boys ate their takeout — “The fridge is empty; I’m not even positive it’s still plugged in!” — basked in the glow of a sunset, and Connor knew that the romantic side of his boyfriend had appreciated it… at least a little. 

Nevertheless, they wound up at Oliver’s right after dinner; the comfort of cable TV and a decent mattress made them ditch Connor’s tiny apartment rather quickly.Oliver was glad they’d cleared that up. The messages that came after, “See you after work”, left no doubt on the location where they’d meet. Eventually, one week at a time, Oliver’s apartment slowly became overridden with Connor’s things. A pair of shoes, a change of clothes, some of his favourite cereal in the kitchen and aftershave in the bathroom, and Oliver never made a single comment about it. 

He was, however, toying with the idea of taking out the spare key and casually giving it to Connor someday. He pondered the idea a long, long time. It was a Wednesday night in the middle of spring that Oliver reluctantly took the key out of the drawer and, while Connor was showering, hurriedly attached it to the law student’s key chain. 

Connor didn’t say anything about it the next day when he left for school, but Oliver knew that he’d done a double take when he’d picked up the keys. The law student’s eyes had lingered on the key, and he’d swallowed thickly before shoving them in his pockets. He’d kissed Oliver goodbye — one hand curled hungrily over the IT tech’s tie, while the other one replied to Michaela’s urgent texts about how late he was — and had promised they would spend Friday night together. He’d call Oliver before he’d show up. 

At 11pm on Friday night, Oliver began looking at his cell phone.

At 1am on Saturday morning, he dialled Connor’s number, and then hit the cancel button before the call could go through. 

At 3am, lying on his back in bed and staring at the ceiling, he began to regret giving Connor a key. He figured that he’d managed to spook his boyfriend away, although they had been making some amazing progress over the last few weeks.

Oliver surprisingly fell aleep not too long after those thoughts began to worry him, and woke up a little before six, with his glasses pressing painfully against the side of his face that was crushed in the pillow. His first action was to roll over and poke at his phone, squinting at his lock screen before huffing in disappointment. No texts, no calls. 

He itched to grab at his laptop to track Connor’s phone. He knew he could do it, but a part of himself was concerned with what he would find. He should trust Connor; they were exclusive, after all, so perhaps Connor had just gotten caught up with a case and hadn’t taken the time to call him. 

Right.

So Oliver got up, made breakfast, and then skipped eating it due to the knot in his stomach. He checked his phone only twice. He took a cold shower. He dressed in comfortable clothes, and then classier clothes in case Connor showed up, and then back into his sweat pants because he was frustrated at Connor anyways. 

Then, he sat down abruptly on his couch, realizing he was acting a bit too dependent for his own tastes, and finally punched in Connor’s number and forced his thumb away from the cancel button. It rang five times before going to voicemail, and Oliver angrily threw his phone down beside him. 

He stewed for a few moments before reaching for the remote. His fingers curled around the hard plastic when his phone vibrated, and Oliver wasn’t very proud of how he dove for the phone instead and let the remote clatter to the ground. His finger was unsteady when he hit his password to read Connor’s text. 

"Good morning, sexy." 

Oliver blinked at the screen before muttering one colourful name for his boyfriend. He took in a deep breath and cautiously typed out, “Had a good evening?” 

The reply came a few minutes later. “Busy.” What the heck did that mean?

Oliver dialled his boyfriend’s number again. This time, it rang twice before he was forced to voicemail. 

"Can’t talk, Ollie. Sorry. Will call you later." 

Oliver stared at the text for a few moments. His fingers idly poked at the screen as he wondered what to reply to the law student, when his phone rang. Surprised, and briefly anxious, he brought the phone against his ear. “Hello?”

"Hello!" a young girl’s voice shouted at him. "Are you Oliver?” 

Oliver heard a commotion as the expensive iPhone was dropped to the floor, along with a loud “Oopsies!” and a groan that Oliver could recognize anywhere. Finally, after some more shuffling, Connor’s voice rang from his speakers. 

"Hey, handsome," he breathlessly said, grunting with effort as the girl who’d picked up the phone squealed. "Hold on, let me carry this one to—" 

"Hi! Hello!" a little boy shouted, dangerously close to the speaker. 

"Andrew, I’ll give you a piggyback ride later, get off me, please. Abbie, I don’t have toast, I don’t even have butter… or any type of food, for that matter. Oliver," Connor’s voice was now strained, and sounded rather far, "can I— can we call you back later?"

"Is that your niece? And your nephew?" Oliver’s fingers touched his own lips, and he realized that he was grinning from ear to ear. 

"Yes," reluctantly admitted the law student. "And they’re a handful this early in the morning." He made a point to yawn loudly as both children squealed in protest. "At least they can’t hide; it’s not like there’s anywhere for them to go except the bathroom." A thump sounded, and the young girl began to wail something about her brother. Connor’s voice became infinitely close to the phone as he muttered, "… Or out the window." 

Oliver snickered. “Do you need help? You sound overwhelmed.” 

"I’m not; I just need a bigger apartment," Connor complained in a huff.

"It’s a bit late for that,” replied the older man, leaning back on the couch. He briefly considered popcorn. “Can I swing over in an hour? Maybe with cookies or something?”

A chorus of yes replied to him; Connor’s voice was the loudest. 

***

Oliver’s knuckles rapped on the wooden door; he half expected to hear the children stampede to him, but he was only greeted by silence. He shifted the bag, filled with ingredients for cookies — those children would learn to bake, he’d decided — from one hand to another when his phone vibrated. 

“Come in!” 

He closed the text and tested the doorknob, slipping inside the dark apartment. A small television was humming in the corner, playing cartoons. Connor was sitting horizontally across his bed, his back against the wall and his feet on a kitchen chair. His niece was curled against him, her cheek pressed against his chest as she gazed intently at the television. His nephew was sitting on the floor by the chair, munching on cereal from the bowl perched precariously on his knee. 

Connor’s head tilted to Oliver and he smiled. Oliver whirled around and backtracked to the kitchen to put away the groceries, feeling his heart tighten at the sight of the usually arrogant Connor Walsh cuddling with his niece. He was putting away the milk when he heard the shuffle and Abbie’s indignant whine, and soon exhaled loudly when the law student’s arms wrapped around his waist. 

“You could have made them at home and brought them to us,” Connor noted dryly as Oliver straightened, before he kissed his boyfriend’s shoulder. Oliver’s expression deadpanned despite Connor’s wink.

“I figured it would give us something to do if you needed to run to Annalise’s for an hour or something.” Oliver finally smiled, although he felt his cheeks heat up when Connor’s smirk deepened as he pulled his boyfriend to him. 

“Admit you just want to see me bake,” accused the law student, before dropping a quick kiss on Oliver’s lips. “Or you’re trying to turn my sister’s kids in your new minions.” 

Oliver’s eyes drifted to the children, now both occupying the space recently deserted by their uncle, and wondered if Connor could hear how fast his heart was racing. He turned to gaze at his boyfriend, smiling weakly in reply, before the cartoon cut to a commercial. Then, two small voices shrieked in unison.

"Oliver!" 

"Your turn to deal with them! I’m going to grab the pizza!" exclaimed Connor, before he grabbed his keys and dashed for the door, while two bodies tackled the IT tech, and tiny hands reached up for the large bag of chocolate chips. 

And if both men thought, by the end of the weekend, that the other was perfect with children… well, who was to complain? This was progress, after all.


End file.
